


Old Injury, Is All

by Aansero



Category: The Goblin Emperor - Katherine Addison
Genre: Finger Sucking, Light Angst, M/M, Scars, mention of past rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-14 05:28:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5731099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aansero/pseuds/Aansero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Csevet and Maia compare scars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old Injury, Is All

**Author's Note:**

> From [this](http://tge-kink.dreamwidth.org/678.html?thread=41638#cmt41638) lovely prompt over on the kinkmeme.
> 
> Any concrit is more than welcome!

Maia pressed kisses to Csevet's shoulder as they lay together in the dark, in the mess of silk sheets and blankets and soft, hot skin. Beneath him, Csevet sighed in sleepy appreciation and touched the back of Maia's neck with his fingertips. Shifting onto his hands and knees, Maiapushed himself up with a hand on Csevet's waist.

Csevet flinched, cried out in pain – a short, terrible sound – and Maia jerked back so hard he almost fell through the bed hangings and onto the floor. 'I'm sorry,' he gasped. 'Art hurt? Csevet, I am so sorry–'

'No,' Csevet said immediately, though his voice was tight and his breathing hard. 'Serenity – Maia, I am fine, I promise. Here, see–' he reached forward and found Maia's hands, pulling them towards himself. 'I am fine. An old injury, is all. Thou surprised me.'

'That,' Maia said, shakily, 'did not sound like surprise.' But under his hands Csevet's breathing was returning to normal, his body pliant as he lay back down and pulled Maia down with him.

Maia made a dissatisfied noise, shaking off Csevet's grip tosit up, open the bed hangings and light a candle. He cast a glance to the bedroom door, where on the other side Kiru and Telimezh waited. They must have heard Csevet, but no doubt his own apologies must have stopped them bursting in. The idea of it made Maia's ears twitch in embarrassment before he forcibly cast aside the thought. He looked down at Csevet, eyes searching his skin –and there, on the side of his waist: a small, thin scar, barely noticeable.

'May I?' Maia said, letting his fingers hover above the skin. 'Does it always hurt?'

'Gently,' Csevet said, and let Maia run his fingertips over his scar. 'And no. Only when pressed the wrong way. In truth, I had forgotten about it.'

'How did it happen?'

Csevet pulled Maia in to kiss his lips. 'Hast thou heard of the saying "a dead messenger's news does not change"?' Csevet said, and smiled, a little sardonic. 'The man I delivered to was drunk, had a knife, and did not believe in proverbs.'

Maia's mouth twisted unhappily, but Csevet put a hand to the back of his head and kissed him deeper than before, soft and slow. 'It healed,' he said, when they broke apart. 'It pains me not.'

'Except when clumsy fools use it as a climbing frame,' Maia muttered back, the breath of his words hot on Csevet's lips. 'I am sorry.'

'Didst not know,' Csevet said, and kissed Maia again.

Afterwards Maia knelt between Csevet's legs, looking down at him, scanning the expanse of white skin. 'Hast thou any more I should be careful of?'

'None,' Csevet said, stretched out, resting his head on one arm to better look up at Maia. His hair, loosened from its braid, fanned out around his head.

'But there are others,' Maia said, and frowned as he touched the rough bump on Csevet's hip that he'd the noticed on their first night together but never mentioned.

Csevet's hand came to rest on Maia's, a little too quickly. 'No more than thou,' he said, and traced up Maia's hand to his forearm.

'How?' Maia said, then added, 'If thou dost not wish to say, do not.'

Csevet's hand returned to Maia's, and he laced their fingers together. Maia had the distinct feeling that it was for his comfort, rather than Csevet's own. 'Sometimes,' Csevet said, 'it was not possible to escape. They were never so bad as Dach'osmer Tethimar. He held me by the hips – one of his rings must have been twisted around. It got infected.'

Fingers tightening their grasp, Maia forced his expression to remain neutral. 'And these?' He leant down and drew a circle around the grouping of little flecks on Csevet's upper arm.

'When I was twelve, just before I became a courier,' Csevet said, raising his arm to look. 'I fell off a horse. It was very embarrassing.'

Maia huffed out a breath of laughter. 'What wert thou doing on a horse at that age?'

'Practicing,' Csevet said. 'All couriers need to know how to ride.'

There was a short moment in which Maia's ears flicked back, embarrassed, and his smile slid away. 'Of course,' he said.

Eyes softening, Csevet pulled on Maia's hands, tugging him forwards. Maia resisted, and shaking off Csevet's grip he shuffled back and placed his hands on each of Csevet's knees. Scars peppered the skin there.

'Wilt be disappointed if thou askest about them,' Csevet said. 'Since I can remember, I have had scars on my knees. Ah – the one on my right, the one shaped as a cheveron, was another riding incident. My three older brothers and a mother who insisted I played with them can account for the rest, I believe.'

Maia smiled despite himself, and ignored the twist of unhappiness in his chest. He shuffled backwards, letting go of Csevet's knees. 'Turn over?'

The candlelight flickered. Csevet sat up. 'Maia,' he said. 'They are scars – they are old. They have already healed.'

'Nonetheless,' Maia said, 'I wish to see.'

The frown Csevet wore was, Maia thought, more sad than anything else. Csevet looked away, ears pitched so that only one who knew them intimately could tell that they were lowered, and turned over to lie on his front.

Ten scars decorated his back: each around the length of Maia's thumb, uneven lines parallel on the skin, like birds in flight. Maia traced them, running the tip of his forefinger down each in turn. The familiar dry texture brought a tightness to his throat, as if he were going to be sick.

'How?' Maia asked. Csevet's back was tense. He rested his head on his arms, but his face, turned to the side, was cast in shadow.

'When I was sixteen, delivering a letter,' Csevet said. 'I refused a proposition. I left without further issue, thinking that the end of it. Two days later I found myself accused of having stolen a handkerchief, worth fifteen pennies.' He laughed lowly, his back hitching as he did so. 'Of course I could prove nothing, so I was whipped and the money docked from my pay.'

Maia forced his jaw to unclench enough to speak. 'For fifteen pence, wert whipped.'

'For free, since I stole nothing,' Csevet said. The dryness of his voice made Maia's breath catch. 'Not to mention the fortnight of lost wage. But I was lucky; I know several who have had a hand cut off, and there's no chance of honest employment after that. Three months before I was sent to Edonomee, a man – Anazh – was hanged for stealing a necklace.'

Maia was silent, and without warning Csevet rolled over, reached up and tugged Maia down to lie with him. 'Maia,' he said. 'Thou canst not shoulder every burden.'

'It is not that,' Maia said, and couldn't stop a burst of laughter from his chest, like a cough. He held up his left arm. 'Only – I have often felt sorry for myself. I have been treated by everyone around me with care and consideration. And yet I have suffered half as much as thee; I have–'

He broke off as Csevet brought his arm down and kissed the inside of his wrist. 'Suffering is not the price for consideration,' he said, and kissed along each of the scars on Maia's arm, then down to his palm.

Maia sucked in a breath as Csevet licked between his fingers, taking time and care to press attention to every inch of skin. As Csevet ran his tongue up the insides of Maia's fore and middle finger, and took them into his mouth, Maia could feel himself harden. Csevet continued to lavish attention on his fingers; Maia's hips bucked without him meaning them to.

Maia blushed but Csevet smiled, his lips curving. He held Maia's hand still and bobbed his head slowly, eyes lowered, cheeks hollowed for the suction on Maia's long fingers.

'Csevet,' Maia said, and blushed harder at how the word came out a moan. He placed his right on the back of Csevet's head, then on his jaw, then clutched at his shoulder. Csevet's mouth was hot, his tongue strong and supple, searching out every sensitive crease. Maia watched, unable to tear his eyes from the sight of his wet fingers moving in and out of Csevet's lips. He was fully hard, his cock pressed to the covers of the bed, leaking pre-come.

Csevet rolled him onto his back and straddled him in one smooth motion, and Maia realised with a jolt that went straight to his cock that Csevet was just as hard as he was.

'Csevet,' he managed, without knowing how to continue. 'Csevet–'

Csevet tilted his head back and with one last swipe of his tongue over the pads of Maia's fingers, pressing close to the nails, he let Maia's fingers fall from his mouth with a loud, wet pop. Maia's hips pitched forward; then he looked down and saw Csevet's back, the scars, and his heart swelled painfully in his chest. The tight arousal he felt in his gut took on an ugly edge.

Without pause Csevet wriggled down to the end of the bed and expertly swallowed Maia's cock.

Maia barely stifled the noise he made, covering his mouth with both hands, back arching. His legs gripped Csevet, and as Csevet bobbed his head – the back of his mouth hot and tight; his tongue, wet and pressing and friction along the length of Maia's cock – Maia's toes curled into the bedsheets.

Time dissolved into an abstract concept. Somehow, as Csevet focused on the head of his cock – lips pushing back the foreskin, tongue flicking from foreskin to slit, one hand wrapped around the base – his right hand had found Maia's left. Maia gripped it tightly, feeling the slight bones of Csevet's fingers between his own. Arousal coiled in his body like a spring being compressed, and it was all he could do not to thrust up into Csevet's mouth.

Csevet hollowed his cheeks and sucked, dipping his head to take in all of Maia, and Maia couldn't hold back a whine, low and cracked and desperate.

'Csevet,' he said without meaning to, as he gasped in a wet lungful of air.

Shortly afterwards, with a stifled whimper, Maia came and Csevet swallowed and lapped at Maia's cock as if desperately greedy. He pressed hot, damp kisses to the insides of Maia's thighs and his trembling stomach, grazing the skin with his teeth, until Maia gripped his upper arms and pulled him up to lie by his side.

Maia's insides felt wrung out. His fingertips tingled. His chest heaved – so did, he noticed, Csevet's.

Rolling onto his side with some effort, Maia wrapped his hand around Csevet's cock. Csevet hissed, a sudden intake of breath, and placed his hand around Maia's, tightening the grip but letting Maia set the pace. His eyes closed and his mouth, lips flushed, wet, lewd, opened. Csevet came, silent except for his ragged breathing.

Leaning over, Maia kissed him, then ran little kisses up the length of his ear. Csevet's ears twitched, sensitive, and he smiled when Maia smiled.


End file.
